Monday, 12 October 2015

in the dark

It was dark. The only streetlight
flickered, casting a rhythmic lick of light over the alleyway, like an
old-fashioned movie.

Julianne pushed her hands deep into her pockets and
glanced back toward the main road. She wasn’t that late, only a few minutes.
He’d told her to wait but she wasn’t going to stand there like some target in
the night, ready to get mugged. She was hardly dressed for running away.

She shifted her
feet, feeling the pinch from her sky-high heels. A little shiver danced up and
down her spine. She looked good, underneath her light silk coat, and there was
something exciting about being hidden there, waiting for him. She leant back
against the wall, feeling the cold brickwork hold her safe. Strange, how
reassuring the night could be, how tender the darkness felt against her skin.

He’d said wait
there, and she’d wait. He’d said that she would see him.

The broken light
played over the cobbles. She found herself watching for the jump, the brief
pattern as the light bounced on and off the alley walls. The flicker of the
light played with the flicker inside her, the knowledge that he’d be with her,
again. It was like her body could already feel him, inside her. Her nipples
hardened and ripples of excitement ran over her stomach, and with each faint
picture of light, she needed him more, but as she watched the patterns on the
cobbles, she became aware of another light, a window in the basement of a
building a little further down the alley, away from the streetlight.

Curious,
Julianne moved a closer, unseen in the night. There was no sign, no house
number, and the railings along the top of the steps looked old, like the ones
in the tall Victorian houses.

She stumbled,
her heel catching one of the cobbles. With her heart in her mouth she grabbed
for the wall as the sound of her movement seemed to scream up and down the
alley. With both hands on the wall, she found her balance, but under the heat,
under the knowing excitement in her body, there was something new.

Fear.

What if he
wasn’t coming? What if someone saw her?

She hesitated,
but he had said to wait. He’d told her to be there. As the
hammering in her chest calmed down, she peered through the dark to the little
basement window and realised there was someone there, behind the glass. Moving
almost silently, careful of her feet, she stepped a little closer.

The window was
naked, without curtains to soften the line. Inside, the room was bare, just wooden
boards and plain walls, with a low red couch and a high backed chair, and in
the middle of the room, a woman danced. She wore a red halter neck dress and
her thick hair fell in unruly curls around her face. Moving forward, forgetting
her fear, Julianne could hear the soft beat of the music, a low New Orleans
blues. The woman moved with her hips, catching the beat with her whole body,
and there was someone else there, too, a little away from the window. His body
was hidden in the darkness but Julianne could see the outline of his legs, the
edge of his hand. He cradled a glass. Ice moved in the amber liquid, catching
the play of the light.

The woman
turned, a slow smile on her lips, and as he watched, so did Julianne.

The woman ran
her hands over her hips and the thin fabric of her red dress pulled up over her
thigh. Julianne breathed in sharply as she saw the pretty lace of the woman’s
stocking tops but the woman moved as if she knew how good she looked, as if she
knew the power she had in her soft curves, her tiny waist, and her plump, round
breasts.

She brought her
hands up to her hair and turned to the music. Julianne edged closer,
pulled forward by the woman’s dance, and as the woman ran her hands up over her
body, teasing, touching, Julianne felt the touch on her own skin.

The woman
laughed. She beckoned the man to come a little closer but he stayed where he
was, and as she danced, her fingers went to the ribbons that held her dress
around the back of her neck. She turned to the window and it was almost as if
she was looking right at Julianne as she slowly pulled the ribbons, but then
she closed her eyes and let the dress fall.

She was naked.
She was perfect. She kicked away the dress and danced on in her stockings and
shoes. She let her hands travel over her stomach, up, tracing the lines of her
beautiful breasts. She pinched one nipple and then opened her eyes wide and
laughed, again, and Julianne felt the heat burning through her own body. Her
mouth was dry and she ran her tongue over her lips. The man lifted his drink
and she could almost taste the bitter twist of the whiskey over the cold ice.
Without knowing what she was doing, Julianne took hold of the railings. The
woman turned, a perfect slow spin. Her nipples were darker than Julianne’s, her
breasts fuller, her waist a little tighter, and she had kept a neat triangle of
hair at her centre, and with every sway and turn of her dance she was touching
herself, letting her fingers dance with her body, displaying herself to them. Her
mouth was wide, her lips slick with deep red lipstick, and she smiled the slow,
sleepy smile of a cat that knew what she wanted.

She lifted one
arm, stretching out to the window, and beckoned.

Julianne gasped.
She looked behind her, all around her, but there was no one else there in the
dark, only her – then the man stepped out from the shadows, and even before she
saw his face, she recognized the sharp outline of his chest, his broad
shoulders, and the single tattoo on the top of his arm.

He moved into the
light, beside the woman, and looked up at Julianne, and he nodded.